Death in Costume
by John Douglas
Summary: MIDSOMER MURDERS - When elderly Rex Hallingham decides to put on a Costume Exhibition at High House, Midsomer Priors, little does he realise what murderous emotions will be unleashed. Barnaby and Jones investigate another baffling case.
1. Chapter 1

**DEATH IN COSTUME **

_**by John Douglas**_

**Author's discaimer : **_Characters and places portrayed in this story that appear in episodes of "Midsomer Murders" and/or in novels by Caroline Graham are the property of their respective copyright holders. I assert copyright of such characters, scenes and situations as are not already copyrighted. This story is written purely for enjoyment and not for profit._

* * *

**Chapter One**

High House, Midsomer Priors, had been the home of the Hallingham family for generations. It was an imposing estate, comprising, besides the house itself, which had been built in the eighteenth century but much altered since, two cottages in the grounds, one being the stable block, now converted into living accommodation, and a smaller caretaker's cottage. The caretaker's cottage was now nearly derelict, as the post of caretaker had long since disappeared, but the stable block was occupied by Paul Metcalfe, an energetic, swarthy young man who had moved in only two months previously. He was not exactly a tenant, or at least he certainly did not see himself as a tenant, though he paid a nominal rent to the sole owner and occupier of High House, Rex Hallingham himself.

Rex was a widower of eighty who spent most of his days writing rather bad poems in his study on the first floor. He had been good-looking as a younger man and vestiges of his good looks still clung to his features. His downy white hair gave him a baby-like appearance and his large blue eyes, coupled with his undoubtedly charming manner, still had the capacity to attract women of a certain age. Some regarded him as quite a catch, despite his advancing years, though the fact that he had a considerable fortune may also have had something to do with his appeal. Even young girls sometimes felt captivated by him and his reputation for having a way with the ladies was known throughout the county of Midsomer and beyond.

It was half past eight in the evening and Rex Hallingham was enjoying his dessert of Floating Islands in the elegant green-painted dining room of High House, accompanied on this occasion by Florrie Packerton, a widow who was his junior by ten years.

"Excellent dessert," said Florrie, tucking in with relish. She was a neatly-dressed woman with long black hair - the colour of her hair had been artificially rejuvenated - and a round, smiling face. She had a habit of talking fast - or 'gabbling', as her long-dead husband used to say. "But I do hope Delfina isn't going to give it to us tomorrow."

"I rather fear she may," said Rex gloomily. "Floating Islands always comes back again."

"Now, Rex, look on the bright side. She's a good girl. She cooks well and she looks after you. It's not every registered nurse who can cook."

"But _you _can look after me, now you're here," said Rex impetuously.

"Oh, _Rex_!" Florrie looked flattered. "You know I can't stay more than a week, two weeks at most. I don't think I should come quite so often, you know. People in the village are beginning to talk." By 'in the village' she meant her native Moretonhampstead in Devon, where she was the owner of an equally large and impressive house.

"So what if they do?" Rex pouted. He was unaware that people in Midsomer Priors were also beginning to talk, mostly out of amusement at this demure septuagenarian who played the part of hostess at High Hall with such accomplishment and so frequently. "But at least you'll be here to supervise my Costume Exhibition on Saturday week."

"I'll be here for that," said Florrie stoically. "I'll help you get the things out. How many people have you invited?"

"Oh, about thirty. And they've all accepted. They're mostly from the village." By 'from the village' Rex meant Midsomer Priors in Midsomer. "And I've invited the Mayor of Causton and the Chief Constable of Midsomer Constabulary."

"I hope Rosamund isn't coming."

"Of course she's coming. She's my sister-in-law."

Florrie puckered her lips. "Rex, what about the models? Have you got enough?"

"Stop fretting, Florrie," said Rex irritably.

Florrie walked over to the sideboard with her now empty dessert plate and was just helping herself to some more Floating Islands when the front doorbell rang. "Whoever can that be at this time of night?" she asked.

"Hallo!" called a loud voice from the hallway. "Rex, are you there?"

"Oh, no!" said Florrie. "It's the doctor again."

Rex lifted himself up from his seat and shuffled out to meet the visitor.

"I was just passing by and thought I'd drop in to see how you're getting along."

Florrie's lips were firmly pressed together as she reluctantly gave up the chance of a second helping of Floating Islands and followed the two men into the sitting-room.

"Oh, I'm fine, Doctor Trevor - thanks to you."

Doctor Trevor Frittas was a tall, lean man of about thirty with a long face, a bushy black beard and piercing blue eyes. His beard, together with his habit of seldom smiling, gave him a rather sinister appearance.

"Do sit down," said Florrie, but the doctor had already done so. Florrie took up a position in an upright chair somewhat behind the two men, to indicate that she was not really part of their discussion.

"Would you like a glass of whisky?" asked Rex.

"Yes, please," said Dr Trevor eagerly. Florrie scowled as Rex tottered towards the drinks trolley in the corner and with an unsteady hand poured Dr Trevor a large glass of Glenmorangie Malt, and for himself an even larger glass of his favourite tipple, which was red vermouth diluted with soda water.

"Are you taking the pills I prescribed?" asked the doctor as he received the libation.

"Yes, all of them, every day. Delfina counts them out for me."

"The results from the hospital show that your blood has a tendency to clot. I've asked Delfina to give you a course of heparin injections."

Rex made a face.

"You really have to be careful, Rex. You're still recovering from that bout of pneumonia, and with your heart condition - well, at least I found Delfina for you. It's a pity she can't live in."

"Yes, I suppose it is. But with Florrie here…"

"How are you enjoying your holiday in Midsomer?" the doctor addressed Florrie, apparently not prepared to consider her as a candidate for the post of carer.

"Very much, thank you," said Florrie primly. "I always enjoy my visits to Midsomer."

"Rex, why has Julian not come to see you? It really is too bad that he didn't even show up when you were so ill. You had _double _pneumonia, you know, and it was very touch and go."

"I know," said Rex. "But I've written to him, asking him to come for the Costume Exhibition."

"But he wasn't here when it mattered most," continued Doctor Trevor. "At least your sister-in-law came and stayed a few days."

Florrie pursed her lips together even more firmly.

Rex sighed. "That son of mine is a great disappointment to me," he said sadly.

"Julian _must _come and look after you. Or at least be in the house."

"Well, he does have a job teaching English to foreigners in Brighton."

"That's not a good enough excuse. It's lucky I found Paul for you to take the stable block. Company is what you need, company. Well, I must be off," and Doctor Trevor, who had drained his tumbler of whisky in a couple of minutes, stood up and bowed politely in the direction of Florrie. "Give my regards to Devonshire," he said as he took his leave.

"Really!" said Florrie as soon as she heard the front door slam. "That man is impossible."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said Rex mildly. "He did save my life."

"Aren't doctors supposed to do that?" Florrie was still smouldering from having been denied a second helping of Floating Islands. "He walks in here, any time of the day or night, and what for? To cadge a drink off you."

"I don't think he's that bad," said Rex, laughing slightly.

"And why does he keep saying that Julian must do this and Julian must do that? He's never even met Julian." Florrie, who had met Julian, was very hopeful that he would not move in to High House, as that would upset her relationship, as she saw it, with Rex. "Well, I must go and have my bath." Florrie stood up.

"You will come back again before going to bed?"

"Of course I will, you silly old thing." Florrie put her arms playfully around Rex's neck and kissed the snowy top of his head. "Has Diddles got another poem for me?"

"If you're good," said Rex with pride.

"Then it's only - _au revoir_!" Florrie flounced out of the room like a kittenish schoolgirl - or as much like one as a seventy-year-old could - while Rex took another noisy sip of vermouth and soda and leaned back in his armchair. The sound of gushing water came presently from the bathroom upstairs, and almost immediately after that there was another "Hallo!" from the hall, this time not preceded by the doorbell.

Paul Metcalfe strode into the room. He carried something wrapped in a brown paper bag in his hand.

"Ah, Paul! Come to keep me company, have you?"

"Actually I've come to consult you," said Paul, sitting down on the edge of the sofa and leaning forward. He always spoke loudly, as if directing other people about their business. "You know that macrobiotic restaurant that I go to?"

"You have often spoken of it," said Rex, hoping that he was not going to get another lecture on the benefits of macrobiotics.

"I was wondering whether to seduce the cook." He eyed the old man carefully.

"How would I know?" said Rex.

"The thing is - she's a lovely girl - and she's got a lovely personality. Here, I've got a photo of her." He fished in the breast pocket of the tweed jacket that he was wearing and showed it to Rex, whose eyes lit up instantly. "But would it be _unprofessional_? I mean, I have to go to that restaurant to eat good food. What do you think?"

"Very tasty," said Rex, who was not thinking of the food. "Would she be available, do you think, as a model?"

"Rex, what makes you say that? She's not _that _sort of a girl."

"I mean for my Costume Exhibition. You know I'm having live models."

"Oh, that. I'll have a word with her," said Paul. "I should think she would love to do it, if she's free. But what do you think about seducing her?"

"Does she seem receptive?"

"Yes - well - it's rather hard to tell, really. She chats to a lot of the customers."

"Then you'll have to play it by ear." Rex took another noisy sip of vermouth and soda. "I didn't offer you a drink, as I know you don't," he said. He cleared his throat. "Have you got anything for me?"

"Oh! I nearly forgot." Paul extracted a DVD from the brown paper bag. "Shall I put it on for you?" he asked.

"Yes, please," said Rex. Paul inserted the DVD into the player under the television set and placed the remote control on the arm of Rex's chair. "I think you'll like this one. Don't forget it's the red button to stop it. Well, I'll leave you to it. Good night, Rex."

"Good night, Paul," said Rex, his eyes glued to the television screen.

A few minutes after he had slammed the front door Florrie came downstairs in a bathrobe, towelling her long black hair energetically. From the sitting-room came a series of grunts and groans.

"Rex?" she called from the hall. Rex seized the remote control and pressed one button after another, which did have the effect of shutting off the television, whatever else it might have done. "I thought I heard someone in here with you," said Florrie, opening the door of the sitting-room.

Rex cleared his throat. "Oh, Paul was here a moment ago."

"Not talking about macrobiotics again, was he?"

"Well, no - not really. He was just being friendly."

"A bit _too_ friendly," said Florrie, sitting down on the sofa. "What do you know about him, Rex? And what is he doing here?"

"Doctor Trevor said he wanted somewhere to stay and that he thought he would be good company for me."

"Aren't _I _good company for you?" Florrie, who was again in kittenish mode, pursed her lips together, but this time it was to be kissed. "And where's my poem, Diddles?"

Diddles staggered to his feet and, opening a drawer in the Louis XIV desk in the corner of the room, withdrew several sheaves of foolscap paper covered in tiny spidery writing. "Are you ready?" he asked and cleared his throat again. Florrie shut her eyes and smiled.

"_There was a young man of Dundee…"_, he began.

Listening to his droning voice, Florrie imagined herself on a tropical beach somewhere being attended to by several handsome natives.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was nearly seven thirty in the evening when Julian Hallingham arrived home. His partner, Mark, was sitting at the table in the kitchen of their Regency flat in Brighton, attempting to complete the quick crossword in the _Evening Argos_, the local newspaper, without much success.

"There's a letter for you," said Mark, who had been in the flat all day as he customarily was every day, being either by design or bad luck more or less permanently unemployed.

"What a day!" said Julian, throwing his rucksack, containing thirty-one of his students' 100-word essays on '_What I like about England' _on the kitchen floor. He threw himself onto a wooden chair and put his feet on the table. Mark got up and moved to the worktop, where he mechanically filled the kettle with water and searched in a screw-top jar for tea-bags. "Thank God it's the end of term. What's the letter, then?"

"Dunno." Mark was approaching fifty, but he still had a full head of blonde hair, which somewhat made up for his otherwise sallow appearance. "It's on the table."

Mark reached across and tore the envelope open.

"It's from Daddy!" he said after a moment. "I think I'll have to go, Mark."

"Why should you?" Mark turned to face his companion.

"He wants me to go for his Costume Exhibition – he's actually _begging _me to go, Markie."

"What Costume Exhibition? It can't be that important." Mark attended to the now boiling kettle.

"Markie, he says that Aunt Rosamund is worried about me."

Mark snorted. "You certainly seem to care a lot about what that aunt of yours thinks."

"You don't understand. Yes, I do like Aunt Rosamund. And she _did _go and look after him when the old man had pneumonia."

"Yeah, and his beloved only son didn't." Mark stirred sugar into two mugs of tea.

"Mark, don't be such a bitch. I _knew _he would pull through, I just knew it. But this time it's different. If Aunt Rosamund is worried about me, I'll have to go. She's a good woman, you know."

Mark handed Julian his mug of tea and sat down opposite him. He took a gulp of the strong brew, looking at him silently. "I can't make you out sometimes, Jules," he said at last.

"No - because you're not part of my family."

"Thank God I'm not!" said Mark. "Your family is up to their elbows in horse manure" (only he didn't actually say '_manure_'). "Five generations of toeing the line and you end up screwed up like.." (he searched for an appropriate simile but luckily could not find it).

"You end up like me, you mean?" Julian winked at Mark. "Well, that's as may be, and it's just as well I don't go home that often. The old man would have a fit if he knew about you."

"That's enough!" said Mark, banging his mug down on the table. "You go and do what you like in Midsomer Priors but just remember" – he suddenly became calm again – "this is your home."

Julian got up and kissed Mark on the cheek. "I'll be off tomorrow morning," he said. "I may be gone for a week or more. I want to go and see Aunt Rosamund first. She understands me better than Daddy."

Mark suddenly sounded anxious. "You won't forget me, will you?" There was a note of pleading in his voice.

"Of course not, Markie," said Julian, laughing. "But, as you know, I like girls too."

Mark looked decidedly unamused.

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

"Dinner!" said Joyce Barnaby triumphantly, putting a large casserole down in the middle of the table and removing the lid.

Her husband leaned forward and sniffed. "What is it?" he asked.

"_Coq au vin_," said Joyce. "It's a James Martin recipe."

Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby fished around for a couple of button mushrooms which he thought looked edible. "I'm afraid I won't be in on Saturday evening, Joyce," he said. "I've been volunteered by the Chief Constable to go to a so-called Costume Exhibition in Midsomer Priors."

"As if you don't do enough for them during the week," said Joyce.

"I can't say no to the Chief Constable, can I?"

"I don't see why not," said Joyce sulkily, helping herself to a chicken thigh. "It seems such an odd thing to have to do."

"It's only for protocol," said Tom. "Apparently Rex Hallingham is an important member of the community. The Chief can't be bothered with social functions like that, so he asked me to go in his place."

"Well, I shall have to content myself with a take-away," said Joyce. "How do you like the chicken?"

"Oh, it's…very good," said Tom.

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

Rosamund Hallingham was an energetic widow of sixty-five. After her husband, Rex's younger brother, had died of a brain tumour some ten years previously she had made it her business to meet as many people as possible by immersing herself in various social activities, mainly those organised by the Church of St Michael in Midsomer Malham, as she hated living on her own, but this had not led, as she had hoped, to romance. Most of the men she met tended to be in need of care and attention rather than providers of love and the only man she felt attracted to was her brother-in-law, whose own wife had died of lung cancer when she was fifty-five. Rex had proposed to her eight years ago and she had cheerfully accepted, on condition that he give up living in that drafty old house in Midsomer Priors and move in to her comfortable modern home in Midsomer Malham. Rosamund hated discomfort and she regarded High House as very uncomfortable. This however was a sticking point for Rex, who loved the family home and saw nothing uncomfortable about it at all. There had then ensued a sort of on-off relationship, Rosamund feeling rejected at times and at others encouraged. She put on a brave face, but inwardly she wished that he could see things her way and then they could live together for however much longer God intended for them.

She was putting the finishing touches to a speech she was due to make to the Women's Institute on origami when the doorbell rang.

"Julian!" she said in surprise as she opened the front door. "How lovely to see you! You might have told me you were coming."

"Sorry, Aunt Rosamund," said Julian, who had a large rucksack on his back, "but I had to see you first. I'm going to see Daddy."

"Come in, come in," said Rosamund, walking briskly into the kitchen, "your father will be delighted, I know."

"I'm not sure about that," said Julian, following, "I don't think I'm very popular."

"Nonsense," said Rosamund, "your father cares a lot about you. You're all he's got. By way of children," she added. "Now, Indian, China or Earl Grey? And you do like chocolate hob-nobs, don't you?"

"Indian, thanks, Aunt Rosamund – he wants me to be there for this Costume Exhibition thing. Are you going?"

"Oh, yes, I'll be there," said Rosamund, switching on the kettle. "Your father is very proud of those costumes his father collected in the 1930's. I'm sure it will be a great success. You know he nearly died two months ago," she said suddenly, looking at him directly. "I arrived in the nick of time, I think. That new doctor was looking after him - he has lovely blue eyes, you know."

"At least you're trained as a nurse," said Julian. "I don't think I would have been much use."

"But just supposing he _had _died," continued Rosamund. "You weren't there!"

Julian looked at the ground and bit his lip.

"I'm very fond of your father," said Rosamund. "He reminds me so much of Leo. He proposed to me once, you know. How would you like having me as a step-mummy?"

"I can't think of anyone else I'd rather see marry my father – apart from my own mother, of course," said Julian emphatically.

"Oh, I'm so glad. I felt so sorry for you when your mother died after that awful illness. How long ago is it now – twenty years?"

"Twenty-one," said Julian sadly. "She never knew me when I was thirty."

"Oh, poor Julian!" Rosamund looked genuinely sympathetic. "I felt I ought to take over as your mother, somehow. But it wasn't to be." She opened a glass jar and took out a couple of chocolate biscuits. "At least he did call for me when he was so ill – so I knew then that I was _wanted_."

"I'm sure you're the only one he cares about," said Julian.

"I don't know about that. He's got that woman staying with him now, you know. I've never met her, but I don't like the sound of her. She keeps going and staying there - yet when he was ill she was nowhere to be seen. I think she's taking advantage of him."

"Who is this woman?" asked Julian, who was not up-to-date on his father's latest girlfriends.

"Somebody he knew when he was in his twenties. Before she married. She's a widow now, like me." Rosamund poured the boiling water into the teapot. "But he's got several people looking after him now – there's the doctor, and then there's a young girl who's a proper nurse, goes in every day and cooks for him, I gather. Not like me, I never qualified. And another young man in the stable block – I'm not sure what he's doing. You see, really," said Rosamund as she poured out two cups of Indian tea, "you should be there to see what's going on. I think your father is a bit vulnerable."

"B-but I can't," protested Julian. "I live in Brighton."

Rosamund handed him a teacup, with a chocolate hob-nob in the saucer. "Ah, yes," she said reflectively. "You live in Brighton." She took a sip of tea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Hallo!" called Julian from the hallway of his ancestral home.

Delfina came scurrying from the kitchen, her long black hair somewhat dishevelled. "Can I help you?" she asked the stranger. She was a slender girl in her mid-twenties with large brown eyes and high cheek-bones. She was wearing her blue nurse's uniform with white trim.

"I'm Julian," said Julian. "Is my father in?"

"Oh!" said Delfina, "of course! Your father is in his study. He'll be delighted to see you. Actually it's time for his heparin injection, so I'll come up with you." As she led the way upstairs Julian admired the way her hips swayed from side to side. "Rex!" she called, and then again more loudly "Rex!"

Rex's study was the fifth door down the corridor from the top of the stairs and, being rather deaf, he did not hear Delfina until she was right outside. "Rex! It's your son! He's come to see you."

"Oh, how nice that you could come at last!" said Rex as Julian entered and stood with a rather shame-faced expression in front of his desk. Rex put down the pen with which he had been composing another ditty for the entertainment of Florrie. "I need you here for the costume exhibition. Do you think you can stay that long?"

There was irony in Rex's question but Julian ignored it. "Of course, Daddy," he said.

"It's time for your injection, Rex," said Delfina, who stood behind Julian.

"Oh, alright," said Rex grumpily and hoisted himself onto his feet.

"We have to do this in the bedroom," explained Delfina, opening the communicating door between the master bedroom and the study.

"In that case, do you think I should..." began Julian hesitantly.

"Of course!" said Delfina brightly. "It's nothing too terrible."

With a great effort and help from Delfina Rex lowered himself onto the bed and lifted his shirt, exposing a suitably flabby midriff. He lay on his back with his hands clasped together on his chest and gazed steadfastly at the ceiling, which made Julian think of the stone effigy on a sarcophagus. Delfina walked to the built-in wardrobe that ran along one side of the room and, drawing a key from the pocket of her uniform, unlocked a large old safe that was bolted to the floor. From this she extracted a disposable syringe which she unwrapped from its sealed paper and cellophane envelope.

"Keep still!" she said, approaching the bed, and plunged the syringe dexterously into Rex's stomach. Rex gave a little cry but remained with his gaze fixed on the ceiling as Delfina injected the colourless contents of the syringe into Rex's subcutaneous tissue. Julian, who had sat on a sateen-covered stool by the window, flinched at the moment of impact, but said nothing.

"All over!" said Delfina brightly, rubbing Rex's stomach with some soothing gel. "I'll leave you two together. You must have a lot to talk about." She locked the safe again and shut the sliding wardrobe door.

"Oh, I don't think..." said Julian, but Delfina was out of the room before he could finish the sentence. In fact, he could not think of anything much to say to his father.

"She's a good girl," said Rex, who was by now sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at the floor. "Does everything for me. Not quite in the same league as Florrie, of course. Have you seen Florrie yet?"

Julian admitted that he hadn't.

"She's downstairs somewhere." He sighed. "I wish I could sleep better at night."

"Is it your heart?" asked Julian.

"No, no, my heart's alright. The doctor has seen to that. Have you met Doctor Trevor?"

Julian admitted that he hadn't.

"It's this bed, facing the window. The light wakes me up first thing in the morning and after that I can't sleep."

Julian remembered that, when he was a child, his parents' bed had faced the other way, with the head against the outside wall of the bedroom. Later on they each had a separate bed, but both of these had also faced the other way. "Why did you move the bed this way round?" he asked.

"I didn't," said Rex. "Paul did. He insisted that the yin and the yang were in the wrong position, so he moved it round. He's a macrobiotic, you know. Have you met Paul yet?"

Julian admitted that he hadn't.

"You've got a lot of catching up to do. But the most important one to talk to is Florrie. I've got a poem to finish up here."

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

Florrie had been in the rose-garden, cutting roses of just the right length for a handsome glass vase which she had a mind to fill, and entered the drawing-room with a wicker basket full of them over one arm and secateurs in her hand. Because of the brightness of the sunlight and the comparative darkness of the room she did not at first see Julian, who was sitting on the sofa leafing through the latest edition of the _Causton Echo_.

"You must be Florrie," said Julian.

Florrie gave a start. "Good heavens!" she said. "It's Julian, isn't it? When is the last time I saw you?"

"When I was a child, I think," said Julian, who certainly did not remember her.

"Oh, it's _so _good of you to come and visit us," said Florrie effusively. "Your father talks a lot about you."

"I was afraid of that," said Julian.

"He must be absolutely _delighted_. Will you be staying long?" she asked anxiously.

"Only to see him through the Costume Exhibition."

"Ah, yes," said Florrie with relief. "That's when I shall have to be going back to my Devonshire. I said I would help him with getting all the costumes out. I believe they're in the loft. I don't suppose you could...". She sounded rather vague.

"I'll get them down," said Julian. "No problem at all."

"Oh, _thank _you. I would ask Paul, but he's rather...". (She sounded rather vague again.)

"Yes?" Julian had no idea what Florrie meant.

"Well – _unreliable_, I would say. He likes to tell other people what to do, but he's not very good at doing anything himself. I don't know what he's doing here, really I don't. It was a harebrained idea of the doctor's, I think."

"Is he a good doctor?" asked Julian.

Florrie looked into the air. "I suppose he is," she said. "But I gather he's only just come to the village. Nobody seems to know much about him."

"But he has a practice here?" pressed Julian.

"He's taken over from old Doctor Peabody, who died last year. Now there was a doctor you could trust!" Florrie sounded more like a long-term resident of Midsomer than an occasional visitor. "This village is full of the most extraordinary people. I think I really have a duty to your father to look after him whenever possible – whenever I can get away from my own village in Devonshire, that is," she continued.

"I'm sure my father appreciates your visits," said Julian guardedly.

"Oh, he does," said Florrie with self-satisfaction. "You do know that he proposed to me earlier this year?"

"No! I didn't," said Julian, taken aback.

"Oh yes, and I said yes." She almost purred. Julian leaned forward, horror-struck. "But only on condition that he would leave this draughty old place and live with me in my much more comfortable home." Julian leaned back on the sofa, feeling the adrenaline draining from his body. "And he wouldn't do that. At least, he won't do it at the moment. Well, if you will excuse me," and she gave a little high-pitched titter, "I must put these roses into water."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Paul Metcalfe left it until nearly nine o'clock the following evening to visit _The Jumping Bean _as he knew that they stopped serving at nine o'clock and that Sophie Sampson would be both cooking and serving unaided save by a general washer-upper at that time. _The Jumping Bean _was an unpretentious little restaurant in Midsomer Priors which however had attracted considerable interest in the twelve months that it had been open on account of its strictly vegetarian menu, which was something of a novelty in Midsomer. A lot of people from all over the county had visited it to see what it was like and, though there were a few such as Paul who believed fervently in the macrobiotic way of life, there were many more who visited it only the once.

The restaurant had no more than eight tables, and these were covered in a no-nonsense blue check plasticised table-cloth. The walls were painted white, as were the wooden chairs, and the only decoration was a selection of gourds which hung from the ceiling. Paul chose the table nearest the kitchen and looked round him. The sole remaining diners were a young couple near the door, who were already on their organic coffee.

Sophie appeared with the bill for the young couple by the door and on the way back stopped at Paul's table to take his order. "Hello there," she said, "what's it to be tonight?"

Paul looked up at her smiling, heavily-made-up face crowned by a mass of corkscrew-like golden curls and thought of what he really wanted tonight but instead said "I'll have the nut-roast and lentils".

"Sure," said Sophie and walked back to the kitchen.

Paul was aware that he had let an opportunity go and spent the rest of the meal cursing his own indecisiveness. As soon as he had finished, and seeing that the couple by the door had left, he resolutely got up and marched into the kitchen and seized Sophie by the waist as she was stirring a thick syrupy liquid in a steaming saucepan.

"What are you doing, cheeky?" asked Sophie but showed no resistance.

"You know what I want," said Paul. "What's that?", indicating the syrupy substance which was bubbling on the hob.

"That's for my special boiled sweets. They're all made with totally natural ingredients, of course, and no sugar."

"Oh," said Paul. "When will they be ready?"

"In a day or two," said Sophie, disengaging herself from Paul. She sighed. "I wish I had somewhere I could make them on a commercial basis."

"Is that what you'd really like to do?" asked Paul.

"I'd like to start my own Macrobiotic Centre, with the sweets as a side-line. It'd be much bigger than this place."

"I live in a big place," said Paul self-importantly. "Do you know High House?"

"High House? Isn't that where Rex Hallingham lives?"

"Yeah, it is. For the time being, that is. The old man can't last much longer."

"So what are you doing there?"

"I look after him. If he needs anything, he only has to ask me," said Paul, though this was not strictly true. "I live in the stable-block."

Sophie giggled. "Like a horse, you mean?"

"Like a stud," said Paul and then laughed loudly, thinking how funny he was. "Talking of Rex – are you working on Saturday week?"

"On the 25th? No, I've got the day off. Why?"

"How would you like to be a model in a costume exhibition?"

"A _model_?" Sophie felt rather flattered.

"Yep – the old man wants a pretty young girl to wear one of his old outfits."

"Is he kinky or something?" asked Sophie.

"No, no – nothing like that. You'd just have to strut up and down to entertain some of the old fogeys of the village."

"Well – I might be able to manage it," said Sophie, drawing a coil of hair down towards her mouth.

"Have you ever seen High House?" asked Paul. "It's quite an impressive place."

"Only from the road," said Sophie.

"It looks its best by moonlight," said Paul.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

At half past seven the following morning Florrie was drawing her customary bath and, since it was again a lovely day, she opened the window which gave onto the forecourt, to the side of which was the stable block. A small red sports car which she had not seen before caught her eye. She turned off the tap and hurried into the master bedroom where Rex, despite his complaints about being woken early by the light, was fast asleep.

"Rex," she hissed, "_Rex!_ There's a new car in the forecourt."

Rex opened his eyes crossly.

"What is it, Florrie?" he mumbled.

"It's half past seven, you old thing, and there's a car I haven't seen before in the forecourt. I think Paul has had an overnight visitor."

"Oh – well, I suppose he is allowed to have visitors."

"But we don't know who it is," said Florrie urgently. "It could be anybody. He has a woman in there, I'm sure of it. You will have to speak to him."

"If you say so, sweetie," said Rex and shut his eyes again, leaving Florrie to continue with her bath, not without checking both before getting into it and after getting out of it that the little red car was still there and that there was no sign of life from the stable block.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

The days went by and Julian found it an increasing strain to have to talk to Florrie, who found it an increasing strain to have him staying in the house, while his father seemed unperturbed by anything. Paul occasionally popped in, much to Florrie's annoyance, but what caused her greatest concern was the continued presence on an overnight basis of the little red sports car and its owner. "Rex," she said one day at breakfast, "that woman seems to be living here."

"Living here? Really?" Rex seemed very vague on the subject. In fact he had taken rather a fancy to Sophie and Sophie treated him with great deference, being more than a little flattered by the great man's attentions.

Eventually the day of the Costume Exhibition arrived. Julian duly carried down the dusty old suitcases from the loft and Florrie made a great show of laying out the clothes, which were handmade costumes from the Middle and Far East, on various beds throughout the house, having shaken them thoroughly to remove any moth-balls. She had decided that each of the three models would dress in a separate bedroom, there being more than enough bedrooms to go round. The master bedroom, however, she declared should not be used, out of respect for Rex. Paul busied himself setting up plastic picnic chairs on the lawn, facing the marble-tiled verandah (as it was called) which ran along the south face of the house. In front of the drawing-room the verandah had a tiled roof, supported by Romanesque pillars, but was otherwise open to the elements. Here was placed Rex's own plastic chair, at a little glass-topped table.

Sam and Diana arrived at about four o'clock. They were met at the door by Julian, who had squeezed into a red matador's costume, complete with silver braiding.

"Julian! Darling! You look gorgeous," said Diana, who was slightly theatrical and had known Julian from when they had both studied _The History of Art _at the Causton Arts Centre. She kissed Julian on both cheeks loudly.

Sam, who was carrying a camcorder, said "We came as early as we could." Sam was a qualified electrician and Diana was a mature student of psychotherapy and they were known locally as 'the odd couple', partly because Sam was short and Diana was tall and partly because Diana was gifted academically and Sam was not. Both were in their late thirties.

"There are two hours to go," said Julian, "but it's a good thing if the models are here early."

"Who else is a model?" asked Diana, her big eyes sparkling.

"Oh, it's only you and Delfina – the nurse – and a girl that Paul's picked up."

Florrie appeared from the kitchen and called out "Sam! Diana! How nice to see you." Sam and Diana were quite frequent visitors to High House and ones of which Florrie approved. "Rex is still in his study, writing out his script – but if you would like to come with me, Diana, I'll take you to your dressing-room. Julian, do you think you could look after Sam? We really have been most fortunate with the weather," and Florrie continued chattering to Diana as she led the way up the staircase.

"Don't worry about me," said Sam, "I'll just take a few shots of the house from the garden if I may – and of the view," and indeed the commanding view that High House had of the village of Midsomer Priors was well worth recording.

"Of course," said Julian. "I'll leave you to it, then," and walked into the kitchen, where Delfina was mixing Pimms' cocktail in several large glass jugs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

By six o'clock Paul, wearing a black and white check blazer (Paul was not part of the exhibition), had positioned himself in the forecourt in order to supervise the parking. The first to arrive, in an elderly Ford Mondeo, were Zoe and Geoffrey Belcher. Both were in their eighties and infirm; Zoe was nearly blind (though she was the driver) and suffered badly from arthritis and Geoffrey was suffering from Parkinsonism. Zoe took no notice of Paul's frantic directions and parked in the middle of a space wide enough for two. "Enjoying your new lodging?" asked Zoe as she hauled herself out of the car. "Pass me my stick, Geoffrey!" she commanded. She had a harsh rasping voice and had wounded many of the village with her tongue. Geoffrey, by contrast, was mild-mannered and inoffensive.

Paul said only "Good to see you again, Zoe," and turned his attention to the next arrival, which was the Mayor of Causton himself, who was driving a Bentley. While Paul was dealing with David Hicks and his vast car Zoe and Geoffrey crawled towards the front door of High House, Zoe leaning heavily on her stick, which was made of metal. They were met by Julian.

"Fancy seeing you!" said Zoe. "Decided to come at last, did you?"

"Your father must be so pleased," said Geoffrey. "The last time I saw him he really wasn't well at all."

"Come on, Geoffrey, move!" said Zoe, poking her husband in the back with her stick. "I wish this was an electric cattle-prod," she said aside to Julian, "that would get him going!" They passed on into the house and out to the garden, where a solitary Sam was munching crisps provided by Delfina, who appeared from the kitchen bearing a tray of cocktail glasses and a jug full of Pimms.

The guests now arrived thick and fast, among them the doctor, who merely stared at Julian and walked silently out to the lawn, and Rosamund, who embraced Julian warmly at the door. "Quite a crowd!" she said, adding in a stage whisper "Which is the woman that's staying here?"

"Oh, you mean Florrie," said Julian. "She's upstairs, helping the models with their costumes."

"Is there anything I can do to help, Julian?"

"No, I don't think so — although, as Delfina is a model, you could keep an eye on the drink, in case it runs out. She's made five jugs altogether. They're in the kitchen."

"Right-oh. But I won't encourage them to drink _too_ much. Some of them are driving, you know." Rosamund, whose sense of a decent, moral lifestyle did not include alcohol, patted Julian on the back and joined the other guests, who were helping themselves quite liberally to Pimms cocktail and talking in groups of three or four on the lawn.

Sophie appeared from the stable-block and immediately started handing out flyers for_ The Jumping Bean_ to anybody who would take one, together with little boiled sweets which she assured anyone who accepted were completely free of sugar. Rosamund, who had joined a group including Zoe, did take both a leaflet and a sweet. She studied the leaflet with interest. '_**SPECIAL INTRODUCTORY OFFER – SUNDAY LUNCH FOR A FIVER'**_, she read, '_**enjoy the healing benefits of a macrobiotic way of life for a knock-down price'**_. "Sounds interesting," she said out loud.

"Don't go there, the food's dreadful," said Zoe. "And if you'll take my advice you won't eat that sweet. They're poisonous."

"They can't be that bad," said Rosamund and popped the sweet into her mouth.

Julian, who had been given a guest-list by his father, went out onto the lawn and had a few words with those of the guests he knew, or could remember. "Hello," he said as Delfina approached with a glass of Pimms for him, and almost instinctively put his arm around her waist. What was said next was heard only by Zoe, who said loudly to Rosamund "I hope that young man is not being led astray."

The doctor by this time, having had several glasses of Pimms, was talking volubly to Sophie, who was giggling. "Is there such a thing as a sexologist?" she was heard to say.

"I'm afraid I'll have to go and get changed," said Delfina to Julian, looking at her watch. "And really Sophie should come too." She went up to Sophie, who seemed to be in hysterics, and tapped her on the shoulder.

Diana, Delfina and Sophie had each been allotted a bedroom in which to change, the whole process being supervised by Florrie, who flitted fussily from one bedroom to another. There were nine costumes in all, each model being required to change into three and to appear on the catwalk, as it were, in sequence. Paul, having given up his post as parking attendant, took up a position at the top of the stairs, his job being to co-ordinate the appearance of the models, so that as soon as one returned via the living-room the next could be prompted to emerge.

Julian now counted the attendees. By his reckoning there was only one absent, and as it was past the scheduled performance time he went back inside the house. "Florrie!" he shouted up the stairs, "can you get my father to come down? We're ready to start."

In due course Rex emerged from his study, carrying in his hand a tumbler full of red vermouth and soda, which Delfina had prepared for him earlier. He walked very slowly down the stairs, trying not to spill any of the precious liquid. At the bottom of the stairs was the front door, no longer manned by his son, and as he reached it he was knocked into by Tom Barnaby, who had arrived late and was slightly out of breath.

"Damn!" said Rex angrily as some of the contents of his glass landed on the Persian carpet.

"I'm so sorry," said Tom, producing his invitation card. "You must be Rex Hallingham."

"And you're not the Chief Constable," said Rex grumpily. "Who are you?"

"I am Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby, sir, and the Chief Constable sends his profuse apologies. He asked me to represent him."

"Of course," said Rex, genial again, "do go and join the others on the lawn."

By this time the guests had settled down in their plastic chairs and Tom Barnaby had the misfortune to have to sit in the only remaining unoccupied seat, which was next to the Mayor of Causton. Tom had good cause to mistrust him, having previously discovered that he was involved in shady deals and having had to arrest his father for several ingenious murders.

"Hello, Barnaby," said David Hicks. "How's your roof? No more leaks, I hope," referring to a building job that he had once done for the chief inspector.

"How's your father?" retorted Tom with a half-smile.

David Hicks was saved from having to answer by Rex Hallingham, who cleared his throat loudly. He was standing at the little glass-topped table, holding his now half-empty glass of vermouth and soda, wearing what looked like a blue and white striped dressing gown with a nightcap of the same material. Round his waist he wore a wide bright red sash. "My father," he said, rather indistinctly, "spent many years in the Balkans during the war years, and collected most of the beautiful costumes that you are going to see this evening."

"Speak up!" said a little man at the back. "We can't hear you."

"All of these costumes," said Rex very loudly, "were made by hand. Each village had its own traditional dress. Now the tradition has virtually died out, but I do think that they are really rather lovely." He took a slurp of vermouth and soda and sat down. As he did so the tassel on the peak of his headdress fell over his left eye and he brushed it back in irritation.

Julian, who acted as go-between, walked awkwardly from the verandah to the bottom of the stairs and gave the signal to Paul, who shouted "First model, please!"

Sophie was the first to appear, in a mainly white dress with lace edging. She wore a red decorated apron which hung from her waist. After doing a couple of twirls on the verandah, while Rex explained that the dress came from Slovonia and the apron from Baranya, she walked slowly down the strip of grass which served as a catwalk between the rows of chairs for the closer inspection of the audience.

"You can feel the material if you like," said Rex encouragingly. Zoe Belcher, who was seated at the end of a row, did so, murmuring "Lovely!" unconvincingly, while Doctor Trevor, on the other side of the catwalk, took the opportunity to squeeze her thigh. "Gedoff!" said Sophie with a giggle, brushing the offending arm away.

The second to appear was Diana, who struck several dramatic poses while Rex described her mainly black and white dress as being from Skopske Polje, and then proceeded down the catwalk. On the way back she was tripped up by Zoe's metal stick, which Zoe had placed so that it stuck out onto the strip of grass between the rows of chairs. "That damn woman!" she said as soon as she was safely upstairs again, "I'm sure she does it on purpose."

Last of all appeared Delfina, wearing a red dress with a tessellated hood and tubular leggings, which Rex declared originated from the Albanian border. On the way back from her promenade down the catwalk she stopped at Rex's table and bent over to say something to him.

The evening continued in much the same manner, with the models reappearing in various handmade outfits, all of them from the Balkans or Syria. Rex's voice became more and more indistinct, and the tassel on the top of his headdress kept falling over his left eye, much to his annoyance, while most of the audience gave up any hope of hearing anything he said. At length all nine costumes had been exhibited and Sophie, Diana and Delfina, to some insistent clapping, were persuaded to line up on the verandah and bow several times. They then all trooped back upstairs and started changing into the clothes they had arrived in, while Florrie fussed about, moving from bedroom to bedroom and assisting them where necessary. Paul, who felt that his responsibilities for the evening had been discharged, strode back to his stable-block without a word to anyone.

"What about the Mandarin's robe with the lining of an unborn ewe's skin?" asked Zoe in a loud voice. Zoe had seen a similar exhibition ten years earlier.

"Oh – the Mandarin's robe – yes, I'd forgotten about that," said Rex and staggered to his feet, after taking another swig of vermouth and soda.

"Can I get it for you?" asked Julian, who had been sitting rather uncomfortably in his tight matador's outfit during most of the exhibition.

"No – no, you don't know where it is. You look after the guests," and Rex shuffled across the sitting-room and towards the hall.

"Perhaps – we all need some more drink," suggested Julian indecisively.

"I'll get it!" said Rosamund, who jumped up from her seat. "You could come and help me, Julian." Once in the kitchen Rosamund realized that all five jugs of Pimms had been consumed and so, with the aid of Julian, she set about making some more.

At least ten minutes passed and the audience began to get a little restless. "I'll see where he's got to," said the doctor and disappeared into the sitting-room.

Tom Barnaby, who had sat through the exhibition with more patience than interest, now got up. "I really think I've done my duty," he said to the Mayor quietly as he made his way towards the front door, buttoning up his jacket. The light in the hall was dim compared with the evening light outside and at first he could only make out a tall man with a beard standing at the foot of the stairs. "Have you seen Mr Hallingham?" asked Tom, not wishing to leave without thanking his host. The tall man turned silently towards the figure of Rex, who was sprawled face down on the bottom five steps. Tom bent over him. "Is he...?" he began.

"Dead," said the doctor in a matter-of-fact tone. "Heart attack."

"How do you know it was a heart attack, Mr..."

"Doctor Trevor Frittas. I am, or was, his doctor."

Tom studied the corpse more closely. He touched his neck, which was still warm. Apart from the fact that his bright red sash appeared to have come undone there was no sign of anything unusual about Rex's body. "Please wait here, Doctor Frittas," said Tom and returned to the verandah, where the assembled guests were talking among themselves. "Can I have your attention please, ladies and gentlemen," announced Tom Barnaby. "I'm afraid that this evening's entertainment has come to an end. Would you all please make your way to your cars by way of the rose-garden at the side of the house. The house is now out of bounds. Something has happened to Mr Hallingham."

The talking suddenly stopped. Zoe Belcher hoisted herself to her feet and said, "He's dead, isn't he?" She stumped towards Tom.

"Please," urged Tom to the crowd, indicating with an arm gesture that they should all leave, which they now started to do in shocked silence.

Zoe drew herself up in front of Barnaby. "He's been murdered," she said clearly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Tom Barnaby cocked his head to one side and said softly "What makes you say that?"

"He was murdered, I tell you!" shouted Zoe Belcher, banging her metal stick on the ground. "I saw that girl do it."

"Do what, exactly?" asked Tom blandly.

"She poured something into his glass. She had her back to us, so most people couldn't see it, but from the angle where I was sitting I _did _see it."

"And what did you see, Mrs....?"

"Belcher," exploded Zoe. "And I take it you're a policeman."

"I am Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby of Causton C.I.D., and what you say interests me greatly, Mrs Belcher."

"I saw that girl – the one in the hood. She pretends to be a nurse."

"Mrs Belcher, can I ask you to describe precisely what it is that you saw?"

"I saw that so-called nurse," said Zoe impatiently, as if she was explaining something to a slow-witted child, "crack open a glass phial of liquid and pour it into Rex's glass. And he took a swig of it before he got up, didn't he?"

Tom Barnaby paused for a moment and then picked up the nearly empty glass of vermouth and soda that still stood on the little glass-topped table where Rex had so recently sat and sniffed it.

"Bananas," he said, more to himself than to Zoe, who now said triumphantly "What did I tell you?" She turned her back on the inspector and started to stomp away towards her husband, who was still waiting calmly in his seat. Tom called after her "Mrs Belcher, I take it that you are a resident of this village?"

"Of course I am," retorted Zoe without turning round, "ask anyone – they'll tell you where to find me."

Tom pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and pressed a number. "George – could you get over here as fast as you can? I'm at the High House, Midsomer Priors. There's been a suspicious death." He then pressed another number. "Jones? – Quick as you can. I'm at the High House, Midsomer Priors and I need back-up." Returning to the body, he found Trevor Frittas writing in a notepad. "I'm afraid I will have to have a post-mortem, Doctor Frittas," said Tom.

"There's no need," said Trevor. "It was a heart attack. He had a weak heart and it gave out as he was going upstairs."

"Nevertheless, there has been an allegation made and we must investigate it."

"Allegation? What sort of allegation?" Frittas sounded almost alarmed.

"An allegation of murder, sir."

Doctor Frittas snorted.

Tom then became aware of a faint wailing sound coming from upstairs. "Who's there?" he asked.

"The models. I told them to stay where they were till the body was moved."

"That was wise of you, sir. But it will only be moved by the police."

"I have been looking after Rex Hallingham for the last six months and I can tell you that his heart could have given out at any time," said Doctor Frittas, getting rather red in the face. "A post-mortem would be a complete waste of time."

"Perhaps you would let me be the judge of that, sir?"

At this moment there was a piercing scream as Rosamund Hallingham came into the hall from the kitchen, carrying a jug full of Pimms, which she dropped. The jug smashed on the Persian carpet. Tom approached her slowly. "I'm sorry, but you are—"

"Rex's sister-in-law," said Rosamund. "His brother's widow. He's dead, isn't he?"

"It must be a great shock to you, Mrs Hallingham," said Tom.

"How did he die?" she asked timorously.

"He had a heart attack," said the doctor loudly.

"We're not quite sure at the moment," said Tom.

"He's a policeman, and he thinks Rex was murdered," said the doctor.

Rosamund gave a little gasp and sat down on a Louis XIV chair that stood in one corner of the hallway.

"Are you the closest relative – of the deceased?" asked Tom.

"No – no, he has a son. He was with me in the kitchen earlier, but I don't know where he is now."

"He's in the dining-room," said the doctor. "I found him kneeling over the body a moment ago."

Tom entered the only other doorway out of the hall. Julian was sitting at a circular Biedermeier dining-table with his head in his hands.

"I'm so sorry," said Tom gently. "I am Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby, of Causton C.I.D."

"He was murdered," said Julian at last, without looking up. "I'm sure of it."

"Why do you say that?"

"There was no reason for my father to die at that moment. He was being well cared for and his heart problem was being treated. There are people in this house – ". He looked up at Barnaby but his voice trailed off.

"Yes, sir?"

"That's all I can say at the moment," said Julian, looking away.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"Nothing untoward at first sight," said Dr George Bullard, the forensic pathologist, bending over the cadaver, "but of course we'll have to give him a more thorough examination."

"George, what about this glass? Does it smell odd to you?"

George gave the glass that Tom had retrieved from the verandah a good sniff. "Smells of bananas," he said.

"That's what I thought," said Tom. "What do you think, Jones?"

Detective Sergeant Ben Jones also gave the glass a good sniff.

"Bananas," he agreed.

"Suggest anything, George?"

"Not immediately," said George.

"Perhaps a banana-flavoured drink?" suggested Ben.

"Yes, thank you, Jones," said Tom. "Let's go and talk to the models," and he started up the stairs, followed by Ben.

"Models?" asked Ben, but Tom had no time to explain.

Sophie, Diana and Delfina were all huddled together on the bed in the main bedroom, holding hands. Florrie had taken herself off to a neighbouring bedroom, considering her own loss to be greater than that of the girls. After introducing themselves and taking their details, the detectives escorted Delfina to a separate bedroom, as Tom was anxious to question her first.

"It has been alleged," said Tom, "that you introduced a liquid into the glass of Rex Hallingham during the exhibition."

"A liquid?" asked Delfina, raising her tear-stained face.

"Smelling of bananas," said Ben.

"Oh, you must mean the asparten," said Delfina with relief. "That was one of his medications."

"For his heart?" asked Tom.

"I don't think so," said Delfina. "I think it's more like a general tonic, but you would have to ask Doctor Trevor about that. He prescribed it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The following morning Florrie Packerton, wearing a black skirt and blouse, descended the staircase with great misgivings, trying unsuccessfully to avoid stepping on the stairs where the great Rex had lain. Suddenly the house seemed cold and unfriendly to her and the presence of Julian was merely an annoyance. 'I must get back to Devonshire,' she thought as she helped herself to some muesli and a banana.

On a Sunday Rex would have taken her out somewhere to lunch, but today she had to go out on her own. She remembered the flyer that Sophie had given her while she was changing. She picked up the telephone and ordered a taxi.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

Rosamund Hallingham could not decide what to do for lunch. She had had a bad night and thoughts were whirling around her head. She decided that she must go out somewhere. Then she remembered the flyer that Sophie had thrust into her hand. By one o'clock she was at _The Jumping Bean._

At first she thought the restaurant was empty, but then she saw that there was one table occupied near the kitchen. Rosamund sat down near the entrance and studied the menu. 'I wonder what the dish of the day is,' she thought and looked up at the blackboard on the far wall. _'Feijoada'_, it said. Then she noticed that the other customer was Florrie. She looked down hurriedly.

Both ladies avoided making eye contact for a good half-hour, and Florrie had just taken her last mouthful of bean stew when Rosamund, unable to restrain herself any longer, marched over to her table.

"Surely you realised that he was very, very ill?" she demanded.

"Of course I did," said Florrie, putting down her fork.

"Then why did you leave him when he had pneumonia? If it wasn't for me..."

"My dear Rosamund, I am not a doctor and not even a nurse. I could not do anything for him."

"Well, I hold you responsible."

"Responsible for what, my dear?"

"For his death!" shouted Rosamund at the top of her voice, which was very shrill.

"_Really_," said Florrie, noticing that Rosamund was wearing a bright scarlet top which she considered most inappropriate, "I do think that that is an uncalled-for remark."

"_You killed him!_" screamed Rosamund and looked as though she might strangle Florrie with her own hands, but fortunately Sophie emerged from the kitchen at that moment. Her eyes were very red.

"Would you like anything else?" she asked Florrie. "Oh, Mrs Packerton, what am I going to do?"

"There, there, dear," said Florrie soothingly. Rosamund realised that Sophie's misery was more important than Florrie, so she put her arm around her shoulder.

"Rex was the only person in the world who really understood me," sobbed Sophie.

"Really, dear?" Florrie's voice was quite icy. "What about Paul?"

Sophie laughed and brushed away her tears. "Paul is good fun, and he's been quite useful to me. But I think I'd be in a bad way if he was the only man in my life."

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

Tom Barnaby and Ben Jones hurried to the mortuary, summoned by Dr George Bullard.

"He sounded quite excited on the phone," said Barnaby.

"Then it must be murder," said Ben.

"Look at this!" said Bullard, whisking the sheet away from the body of the now naked Rex Hallingham. Severe purple bruising spread from his left groin to his belly button. Both detectives peered at it.

"An injection," said Bullard, "or, rather, injections. Do you see these?" Tom and Ben bent down even further. "Tiny little red pin-pricks. There are five of them altogether."

"Could that not be something to control his heart, rather than to stop it?" asked Tom.

"It could. We won't know until we've analysed his body tissue. But _five _of them, Tom."

"Were they all administered at the same time?"

"They all look similar. If they had been administered over a period of days the earlier ones would have faded."

"Let me know when you find out what it is," said Tom.

"Oh, and Tom, that banana-flavoured drink. It's asparten."

"Is it a general tonic?" asked Ben.

"Not exactly," said George, washing his hands thoroughly in the sluice, "it's arginine aspartate. Not much used in this country. Its primary function appears to be to stimulate the sex drive."

"The old goat!" said Ben and then looked at Barnaby. "The nurse, sir. She tried it on with asparten and then got him with these injections."

"Yes, but why?" asked Tom.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

Delfina was quite composed when she opened the door to Tom and Ben. She escorted them into the dining-room and answered their questions in a strangely matter-of-fact way.

"Yes, I gave him injections," she said. "Heparin. It's the only thing that was keeping him alive."

"Can you tell us – how many injections you gave him on the day that he died, and when?" asked Tom.

"I gave him three injections a day. On Saturday he had one in the morning and one in the early afternoon. Unfortunately I was not able to give him his evening injection," she said, her voice hardly faltering.

"And did you never give him five injections at a time?" asked Ben.

"Five at a time?" Delfina sounded surprised. "That would almost certainly kill him."

After a short pause Tom continued, "And where are these injections stored? Do you bring them with you?"

"No," said Delfina, "they are kept here, but under lock and key, I assure you."

"Can you show us where you keep them?" asked Tom.

"Certainly," said Delfina and led the two inquisitors up to the main bedroom, where she opened the built-in wardrobe and, taking the key from her uniform pocket, unlocked the built-in safe."

"Here," she said, drawing out a carton, "they come in boxes of twenty-five vials. Each injection is in a disposable syringe."

"And how many cartons do you keep here at a time, Delfina?"

"Doctor Trevor has only just prescribed them. There's this one and then – " she rummaged in the safe. "That's funny. There's one missing."

"Missing?" asked Ben. "Who else has the key to that safe?"

"Well, nobody does. I don't understand it at all." Delfina looked genuinely alarmed. "I keep the key in this uniform, which I always wear when I'm here. I take it home with me every day. This safe only contains his medicines and a few old papers."

"What sort of papers?" asked Tom.

"I – I don't really know." Delfina's composure seemed to have deserted her. "I never look at them. But he did ask me to put something in there the other day. It was in a large brown enevelope, so I didn't see what it was."

"Thank you, Delfina. We'll just look round here a bit on our own, if we may," said Tom.

"Of course," said Delfina and went back downstairs.

"Try that safe again, Ben," said Tom. "Is it really locked?"

Tom rattled the lid and pulled at the clasp. "It is really locked," he said. "If it was forced the lock would be twisted."

Tom sat down on the bed and studied the room. It had evidently once been a grandly-decorated room, but the orange-tinted paint was now peeling in places and the damask curtains were threadbare. "Not many personal possessions in this room," he remarked.

"That's right," said Ben, looking about. "No photographs, no trinkets – it could be a hotel bedroom."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"What would the motive be for killing Rex Hallingham, sir?" asked Ben as they walked back to the car.

"Apparently Rex Hallingham was a wealthy man," said Tom. "We must find out who benefits from his will."

"Wouldn't that be his son?"

"Julian? He found the body, according to Doctor Frittas. Now there is somebody I would not trust with my life. He was desperate to prevent a post-mortem."

"Do you think he would benefit from the will?"

"The doctor who saved him when he had pneumonia. Hmm."

"Shall we go and interview Julian?"

Barnaby thought for a moment. "No," he said, starting the engine. "Not yet. I want to talk to somebody who certainly could not have committed the murder, if indeed it was murder. Zoe Belcher, she was one of the guests. She is a woman who 'notices' things."

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"I was expecting you to call," said Zoe, opening the door of her substantial mansion. "Geoffrey!" she called out. "We've got visitors. Put on the kettle!" She hobbled back into the living-room and invited Tom and Ben to sit down.

"I was wondering, Mrs Belcher, why you referred to Delfina as a 'so-called' nurse. What do you know about her?" enquired Barnaby.

"Not much. Guilt by association, I suppose. She was found by that dreadful man, Frittas."

"The doctor?"

Zoe cackled bitterly. "Horse-doctor, more like. He came out once to Geoffrey when he took a turn for the worse. Nearly killed him. Isn't that right, Geoffrey?" she shouted towards the adjoining kitchen.

"What?" Geoffrey stumbled back into the living-room.

"Doctor Frittas nearly killed you," she continued shouting.

"Oh – yes – I suppose he did."

"Comes from South Africa. He suddenly turned up in the village and took over from Dr Peabody. I don't believe he has any qualifications to practise."

"I presume, Mrs Belcher, that that is speculation on your part," said Tom mildly.

"I speculate a great deal, Inspector," confessed Zoe, "but I am usually proved right."

"And can you speculate on any reason why Delfina should want to murder Rex Hallingham?"

"Ah." Zoe wiped her lower lip with the back of her forefinger. "That whole crowd was brought in by Frittas. The nurse, the macrobiotic girl and that lazy young man living in Rex's stable-block."

"Which lazy young man?" asked Ben.

"Paul Metcalfe. He'll have Julian out of house and home if he's not careful. I believe that that is his plan. Did you know that he was living in my cottage, by the gate? I had a devil of a job getting rid of him. I threatened to cut off his water supply. _Then _he moved." She cackled her merciless laugh again.

"So – you think that Paul scrounges off other people?" asked Tom.

"Of course he does. He picks on vulnerable elderly people to 'look after', as he puts it, and then waits for them to die, in the hope that he can take over their property. No money of his own, you see. Only in the case of Rex, perhaps he didn't wait for him to die. Thank you, Geoffrey," as her husband proffered a china cup of tea with trembling hand. "Lemon or milk?" She looked from one policeman to the other.

"No – nothing," said Tom.

"I warned Rex about them, but he didn't take any notice of me. Elderly men are very difficult, aren't they, Geoffrey?", raising her voice.

"What?"

"I think Julian will have great difficulty over his inheritance _–__ if _he does inherit. But refusing to see his father when he was ill can't have helped." She took a sip of tea. "I do wonder it said in that will."

Ben Jones sat bolt upright.

"You have seen his will?"

"Oh yes, I saw it the other day when he came round. He wanted us to witness his signature. Isn't that right, Geoffrey?" She raised her voice again. "He got us to witness his will."

"Yes, he did," said Geoffrey.

"Do you know where it is now?" continued Ben. "With a solicitor, perhaps?"

"No, I don't think there was a solicitor involved," said Zoe. "He had legal training when he was a young man and took pride in doing things himself. Julian would know where it was, surely." She sighed. "It was on the table in front of me for twenty minutes and I didn't notice what it said."

"But I did," said Geoffrey. Tom, Ben and Zoe all stared at him. "It split the entire estate between his sister-in-law and Mrs Packerton. There was also a considerable bequest to his doctor. I don't think Julian was in it at all." The old man sank back into his armchair and stared at the ceiling.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"Right – back to High House. Get the key from Delfina and search the safe for the will," said Tom as soon as they were outside. "If Julian is there try to find out what he knows about it. In the meantime I will talk to Master Paul Metcalfe."

As he approached the stable block waves of Wagner hit Tom's ears. He had to ring the bell more than once before Paul appeared, clothed in what looked like a blue and white striped dressing-gown.

"Can I come in?" asked Tom.

Paul held the door open and indicated a dilapidated armchair. The room was illuminated with candles and incense filled the air. Tom introduced himself and presented his warrant card.

"Could you possibly describe your movements yesterday from the moment that Mr Hallingham first came downstairs until his body was discovered?"

"Until what?" shouted Paul, straining to hear against the thunder of the music.

"Perhaps – " – Tom indicated his ears.

"Turn that thing down, Sophes," shouted Paul. "_The Twilight of the Gods_," he explained as soon as the noise had subsided.

"Until Mr Hallingham's body was discovered, sir."

"Of course. As soon as he had finished his spiel I came across here. My work was done. Tragic about Rex."

"Tragic. Can anyone verify that you were here?"

"Well – no, not really. Sophie only came across about nine o'clock, after you lot had let them all go, and told me what had happened. Dreadful to think he just conked out like that. Still, I didn't think he could last much longer," he added cheerfully.

"And what did you do, sir, until Sophie came home?"

"Oh, I worked on a plan I've got to develop a property."

"You're a property developer?"

"Not exactly," said Paul shiftily. "I hope to be."

"Who is it?" Sophie came into the room wearing a white bathrobe, towel-drying her hair.

"Oh, Inspector, it's you! If I'd known..."

"That's quite alright, Miss Sampson. Will you be – staying on?" he asked in an innocent voice, of neither of them in particular.

"We hope to," said Sophie quickly, instinctively holding out her hand to Paul's. "It suits us very well."

"Sophie thinks that this would be an excellent place to start a real Macrobiotic Centre," said Paul grandly.

"I suppose that would depend very largely on Julian Hallingham now?"

Sophie and Paul exchanged glances.

"The truth is," said Sophie, "we're not sure the property was left to Julian."

"He took no notice when his father was ill," said Paul. "I was the only one who helped him out." His voice had risen in volume. "Doesn't that deserve some thanks?"

"That would not be for me judge, sir," said Tom politely. "And now, if you will excuse me – ". He made his way to the door. "May I say that that dressing-gown suits you much better than it did its late owner. Please do not leave the village, either of you, until we have finished our enquiries."

As soon as he had gone Sophie turned to Paul. "You fool!" she said. "Why did you say that to him?"

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"It's gone, sir," said Ben Jones when they met up in the courtyard of High House, "the will. And Julian swears he used to keep it there."

"So does he have a key?"

"He says he doesn't. He's remembering how it was twenty years ago, when Rex had the key. He doesn't seem to know about any new will."

"So he doesn't know he has been disinherited – presumably," Tom mused.

"Is that legal, sir? Disinheriting your only son?"

"I imagine he would have grounds for challenging the will."

"Oh, and Mrs Packerton would like to have a word with you."

In fact Florrie was already standing at the front door, trying to attract Tom's attention. "Inspector!" she called. "I hope I'm not being too forward, but I really ought to get back to my village in Devonshire. The lettuces will be starting to bolt."

"I'm afraid that will be quite impossible," said Tom.

"Oh _dear_," said Florrie. "That really is most tiresome. And Julian, will he be staying too?"

"_Nobody_," emphasized Tom, "nobody at all who was inside the house at the time of Rex Hallingham's death must leave this village until we have discovered exactly how he died. Is that clear, Mrs Packerton?"

"Perfectly," said Florrie frostily. "You do know, I suppose, that Rosamund Hallingham tried to strangle me earlier today?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"So, how far have we got in this murder that might not be a murder?" asked Tom in the police station the next day.

"Well, the three models, Sophie, Delfina and Diana, were all upstairs. So was Florrie Packerton. Julian and Rosamund were downstairs in the kitchen, preparing the drink for the guests. Paul goes off – so he says – to the stable block. Doctor Trevor comes into the hall and finds Julian kneeling over the body of his dead father."

"In a nutshell," said Tom. Motives?"

"That's where it's all a bit muddled," said Ben Jones. "If Florrie and Rosamund knew that each of them was in line for half the estate, is it possible that one of them killed Rex?"

"Go on."

"I cannot see any motive for Diana or Delfina. Delfina, however, had the means."

"Oh, yes. And Sophie wanted to turn the place into a macrobiotic centre, God help us."

"Is that a motive for murder, sir?"

"Well – " Tom scratched his head. "Paul was her accomplice. Egging her on."

"Or she was egging him on. Would he feel so strongly about staying at High House if she hadn't put into his head the marvellous things she could do with it?"

"Very true. And Julian?"

"Says he popped out to the loo while his aunt was making the Pimms. To get to the loo you have to go through the hall – and then he saw his father. He might have brought him down onto the stairs, tussled with him, said he needed five injections – ".

"How did he get the injections?"

"That applies to all of them, sir. All the others, apart from Rosamund, were upstairs. One of them might have heard him coming upstairs, nipped out and..."

"Having picked the pocket of Delfina, who of course had been changing out of her costumes. Yes, that makes sense, Jones." Tom ruminated for a moment. "But injecting those syringes into the old man – five times, surely that would take a special sort of skill?"

"Which only Delfina has," said Jones.

"And the doctor, presumably," added Barnaby. He got up, went as if to pick up the telephone on his desk, and sat down again. "I wish Bullard could tell us exactly when the injections were administered. Because, if they had a slow effect, perhaps they were administered before he first came downstairs?"

"Talk of the devil!" said Jones, for at this point Dr George Bullard himself burst into the office, full of enthusiasm.

"I've cracked it!" he said. "Tom, you'll never believe it."

"I rather think I might," said Tom.

"Rex Hallingham died of a heart attack. There is no doubt about it."

Neither Tom nor Ben looked quite as pleased as George Bullard. Tom Barnaby began, "Oh, for..."

"All the tea in China," said Ben hurriedly, as Tom threw his pen across the desk.

"Do you mean to tell me that we have wasted all this time on a common-or-garden heart attack?"

"I'm afraid so, Tom. The heparin injections, that was what confused me. But they never got into his system. He was already dead."

Tom blinked and looked at Ben. "So somebody saw that the old man had died and then went and injected five shots of heparin into him?"

"What sort of sense is that?" asked Ben, extending his arms.

"Oh, well, if you want to go on investigating a hypothetical murder, then that's up to you," said George Bullard. "As far as I am concerned the case is closed."

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

It was late afternoon and Florrie Packerton was feeling distinctly unwell. Bouts of vomiting, which she considered most unladylike, had forced her into the seclusion of her own bedroom. She felt her head spinning and she could not see things clearly. At last she considered her situation to be serious enough to be made public, and so, in a feeble but penetrating voice, she called out from the landing, "Julian! Delfina! Is anybody there?"

Delfina, who had been about to go home, as there was not much to occupy her now in High House, came running.

"I don't feel very well," said Florrie weakly.

"Oh, Mrs Packerton, whatever is the matter?" asked Delfina.

"I don't know... it must be something I ate..." She then retched and managed to get to the handbasin in her room without Delfina's seeing her disgrace.

"Really, Mrs Packerton, you should be in bed. Shall I call Doctor Trevor?"

"No! Not him!" declared Florrie, her voice suddenly stronger. "Anyone else except Doctor Trevor!"

"But there isn't another doctor in the village," said Delfina urgently, "I really think I should call him."

"He will be the death of me!" cried Florrie, collapsing onto the bed.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"Food poisoning!" exclaimed Delfina. "Good heavens!"

"She will recover in the morning so long as she takes these tablets," said Doctor Trevor, who was sitting by the bed of the semi-unconscious Florrie Packerton. "Let me know if there is any change for the worse." He handed Delfina a pack of unmarked tablets.

"Yes, of course, doctor."

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

About the same time as Florrie was feeling herself to be at death's door, Rosamund Hallingham also began to feel the unmistakable effects of acute food poisoning. Having trained as a nurse, she had in her medicine cupboard certain pills which she knew to be effective if taken early enough. But oh, she thought to herself, if only I could talk to Rex about it. He would cheer me up. After several visits to the bathroom she went downstairs and picked up the phone.

"Hallo – Julian? It's Aunt Rosamund here. Terrible business about your father on Saturday – yes, terrible, terrible. I'm so sorry. Julian, I only wanted to chat to you because I'm afraid I've got rather a bad tummy-bug... No, it's nothing to worry about. I don't suppose that nurse would have a moment spare, would she?... Yes, well, that's rather what I thought. If she _does _have the time, then I'd love to see her, but really, it isn't that important. I'm sure I can manage by myself. Thank you so much, Julian." She put the phone down and hurried back to the bathroom, where she was violently sick.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"She said she nearly strangled her," said Ben as they drove towards Rosamund Hallingham's house. "Of course, it may be an exaggeration."

"I think we should find out," said Tom, as they drew up outside Rosamunds's comfortable modern home. "This business is _not _solved, whatever George Bullard says."

Instead of their being met by Rosamund, Delfina opened the door.

"Ah – I'm afraid Mrs Hallingham is extremely ill," she said. "Please follow me."

Rosamund was lying motionless on the bed. "What is it?" whispered Tom.

"Food poisoning," said Delfina. "Mrs Packerton is also affected."

"How did it happen?"

"She said she had a meal at _The Jumping Bean _yesterday," said Delfina. "That is all that I can think of."

Tom Barnaby touched her arm. It felt cold. He lifted her eyelid with his thumb. There was no response. He felt her pulse. "Mrs Hallingham is dead," he said.

"Dead!" shrieked Delfina with great emotion. "How can she be dead? Oh, God, what have I done?" and she collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"I'll have that macrobiotic place closed down," said Barnaby furiously as he got back into the car and slammed the door. "Health and Safety will have a field-day. Jones, I'm going to drop you at High House. Caution that so-and-so Paul, and I'll see to Miss Sampson."

"What shall I caution him with, sir?"

"I don't care. The two of them are in it together, whatever it is. And get in touch with Bullard while you're at it."

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"The same as before," said Dr Bullard, drawing back the sheet to reveal a semi-naked torso. "See here?" and he pointed at the lower abdomen, extensively bruised. "Five little pricks, all in a circle."

"Except the middle one," said Jones. Barnaby and Bullard glanced at him without a word.

"But did she die of food-poisoning?" asked Tom urgently.

"You know the answer to that, Tom," said George. "We'll have to do some tests and that will take time."

"But how many more people have got to die like this?"

George Bullard restored Rosamund to her modest state. "That is your department, not mine," he said.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

Tom and Ben had hardly got back to the station before the telephone rang. "It's Julian," said Ben, "he says that Florrie Packerton is extremely ill with food poisoning. He thinks she might be dead."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

In their small flat in Midsomer Priors, Diana was basting a half leg of lamb for their evening meal when Sam called out from the living-room, "Do you want to see the DVD I've made of the exhibition, Di?"

Diana looked at her watch and shut the oven door. "It won't take long, will it?" she asked as she reluctantly joined her partner, "Only we'll be eating in half-an-hour."

"No, pet, it won't take long. I'm really proud of it and there are some good shots of you, looking stunning."

Diana sank into the leather settee and prepared to be bored as Sam fiddled with the recorder. "There!" he said, as some jerky images of High House came on the television screen. There were then some very slow panoramic sweeping views of the village, followed by little scenes of various of the attendees, Pimms in hand. At one point the camera zoomed in on Paul and Doctor Trevor, who were having a serious discussion, unlike most of the guests, who appeared to have been slightly affected by the Pimms.

"You've got him now," the doctor was saying, just audibly. "He can't get you out. You're a sitting tenant."

"I know, I know – Sophie wants to do her macrobiotic thing so badly. But what about Rex and all his girlfriends? And then there's Julian."

The doctor took a swig of Pimms and then said, "You'll have to get rid of them first."

The camera then swung away to Julian, who appeared to be getting intimate with Delfina, still wearing her nurse's uniform.

"Sam, can you go back a bit?" asked Diana.

"Of course, pet," he said. As the scene with the doctor and Paul started to replay Diana said "Hold it right there! Freeze it!"

Mystified, Sam did as he was told.

"Where exactly is that on the disc?" she asked.

Sam pressed a button. "Twelve minutes and nine seconds," he said. "I don't see anything special there."

"Sam, could you lend me that DVD, do you think?" asked Diana, getting up. "I think it could be important."

"Of course, pet – but you haven't seen the best bit yet."

"I must see about the lamb," she said.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"It's getting quite crowded in here, Tom," said George Bullard, whisking the sheets off the corpses of Rosamund and Florrie on their cold slabs. "Identical bruising and each with five pinpricks. But here's the interesting bit. These two definitely _did _die from heparin overdose, whereas that one over there –" (he waved towards Rex Hallingham) "– did not. These two did _not _die from food poisoning."

"They didn't have food poisoning?"

"Oh, they did, but they would have recovered from that."

"George, you make it all sound so easy," said Tom expansively.

"Always happy to oblige," said George.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"So it must have been Julian, who killed the people who could have benefited from his father's will?" said Ben, back in the station.

Tom reclined in his chair and looked thoughtful. "I don't think it had anything to do with the will," he said quietly. "I have a theory. Do you remember that you noticed how empty Rex's bedroom looked?"

"So?" Ben shrugged.

A uniformed officer opened the door and handed Tom a thick square brown envelope. "A lady handed this in at the desk," he said. "She said she was called Diana and that you would know who she was."

Tom tore the envelope open and took out the DVD. There was also a handwritten note which simply read "See 12 mins 9 secs. Diana".

"Can we play this anywhere, Jones?"

"We can play it on the computer," said Ben, taking the disc and inserting it into the slot in the laptop on Tom's desk. After a slight whirring the machine played back the scene that Diana had viewed the day before.

"Aha!" said Ben. "So the doctor and Paul Metcalfe were plotting together."

"Can you freeze it, Jones?" Jones did so.

"But that means … if it's them, surely Julian could be next?"

"Jones, look at the screen. What do you see?" The recording had frozen on a frame of Julian, embracing Delfina.

"Well – Julian is getting friendly with the nurse. Nothing wrong in that, is there?"

"And where is his right hand?"

"In the pocket of her uniform."

"Come on Jones, I've had enough of this." Tom jumped to his feet and walked quickly out of the station. Ben followed, after hurriedly turning off the DVD drive.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Julian was going through the papers on his father's desk when Barnaby and Jones rang the front doorbell. "Oh, it's you," he said, opening. "I was just going through my father's things."

"Indeed, sir," said Tom, smiling. "Might we go upstairs to have a talk, do you think?"

"Upstairs?"

"Well, I presume that is where you were when we rang. In your father's study?"

"Yes – as a matter of fact, I was," said Julian, somewhat taken aback. "Please – " he indicated with his arm that Tom and Ben should go ahead, which they did. At the top of the stairs Tom walked into the master bedroom. "Oh, that's the bedroom," said Julian. "I was in the study."

"Of course, sir," said Tom, still smiling. The three were now standing in the middle of the bedroom. "Rather an empty room, isn't it sir, for someone who slept here all his life?"

Julian's face fell. "Well – yes, I suppose it is," he said with a nervous laugh. He led the way into the adjoining study, where the two detectives each pulled up a chair at the mahogany desk, at which Julian now sat. "This feels a bit like an interview," he said. There was an awkward pause. "Nasty business about Florrie Packerton," he said.

"And your aunt," said Ben.

Julian looked from one to the other. "You don't mean to say that she's – "

"Dead," said Ben.

Julian looked horrified. "Oh, no! Not Aunt Rosamund too! The food in that restaurant must be absolutely dreadful."

"But not dreadful enough to kill," said Tom. "You did that."

Julian stared at Tom and opened and shut his mouth, like a goldfish, but no sound came out.

"Tell me, how did you learn how to administer those injections of heparin?"

Julian suddenly slumped down in his chair and tears filled his eyes. "I saw Delfina doing it," he said, "the day I arrived. I saw her take the key to the safe from the pocket of her uniform."

"Which you removed on the day of the costume exhibition," said Tom.

"How do you know that?"

"After which you took a box of syringes from the safe and locked it again. I suppose that you returned the key to Delfina's uniform while the models were all downstairs, taking their bow?"

"Yes, but I never killed my father," said Julian urgently.

"We know that, sir," said Tom.

"What I don't understand," said Ben, "is why you gratuitously attacked your father when you found him dead on the stairs."

Julian composed himself slightly. "It all came to me in a flash. I had intended to use the heparin against Florrie and Rosamund, but when I saw my father lying there I suddenly realised that by injecting him I could throw the blame on Paul – or possibly the doctor, or even Delfina. And I think I did that."

"How did you know how much heparin would kill?" asked Ben.

Julian laughed again. "There is such a thing as a computer in the local lending library, you know."

"Did you possibly also remove a will from the safe?" asked Tom.

Julian calmly opened a drawer in the desk. "I think this is what you have in mind," he said, handing a neatly handwritten document to Tom Barnaby, who put on his glasses.

"But surely Delfina put the will in the safe?" asked Ben.

"She put an empty envelope in the safe," said Julian. "My father had left it lying about on this desk."

"I see that you are not named as a beneficiary in this document," said Barnaby, taking off his glasses.

"Is that why you murdered your aunt and Mrs Packerton?" asked Ben.

"No," said Julian, looking down. "No, it is not. I have little doubt that a challenge to the will in the High Court would have succeeded. I was dependent on my father, you see. That is not why they died."

As he seemed to have trouble in going on, Barnaby suggested slowly "Perhaps … it had more to do with the death of your mother?"

Julian looked up sharply. "My mother should not have died when she did," he said. "Nobody could replace my mother. I always knew that my father had an eye for the ladies, but I found out, when I came here, now, at this time in my life, that both Florrie Packerton and Aunt Rosamund had designs on him. He had _proposed _to both of them."

"That must have been a shock," said Tom gently.

"A shock – yes. Do you know that either my father, or more probably that Florrie woman, had removed every trace of my mother from the bedroom? Not a single photograph of her remains. He even got rid of all her jewellery," and now he broke down in tears.

"I can understand," continued Tom slowly, "though I cannot condone, what you felt about Florrie Packerton. But did you not feel a little more sympathy for your aunt?"

Julian pulled himself together and sniffed. "Aunt Rosamund," he said, "yes, I did like her. I _really _liked her. But when she said that he had proposed to her and would I like it if she was my step-mummy I suddenly saw my mother and – no, it wouldn't have been right. If my father had died, then why should she not die as well?"

Inspector Tom Barnaby buttoned his jacket and stood up. "Thank you for being so informative, Mr Hallingham," he said. "Perhaps you would accompany us now?"

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"What an extraordinary story!" said Joyce Barnaby, who was adding the final touches to a dish of duck with cherries which she had found on the internet. "What will happen now to the estate?"

"I imagine that the probate court will have to decide on that," said Tom, who sat at the dining table, ready for his wife's offering.

"You know that I once went out with Rex Hallingham?"

"Really?" Tom looked at Joyce horrified as she bore the platter in from the kitchen. "Oh, yes. That was long before I met you, of course. You don't know much about my early love life."

"No. I don't."

"He was quite a dashing figure then." She laid the duck dish in front of her husband. "He even asked me to marry him." She picked a cherry from the sauce and put it in her mouth. "I nearly said yes."

"Thank God you didn't," said Tom. "But surely he must have been married then to Julian's mother?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Joyce. "If he had a wife he kept it quiet. One thing's for sure, I'd have been better off."

"You might also by now be dead," said Tom, taking up the carving knife. "Leg or breast?"

**THE END**


End file.
